


Names

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Series: Off Label [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Marking, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mahariel told them to stay out of sight for the afternoon. Alistair finds a way to fill the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Names

**Author's Note:**

> This is three days before "Rain," so very early on in their relationship.
> 
> Also, we should probably call this a preemptive apology for what I'll be posting tomorrow. *evil laugh*
> 
> (Tomorrow's story is not actually in this 'verse, but it is still Alistair/Zevran angst. And there will be more angst in this 'verse shortly.)

It's new, so new his skin burns with it every time he thinks about it, this strange thing between them he doesn't even try to name. As if he might curse it by naming it, make it disappear because he dared to think it would last long enough to need a name. He knows it won't last forever, but he wants it to last at least a little bit longer.

And so he doesn't name it, only concentrates on Zevran's skin under his mouth, on mirroring the curves of his tattoos in bruises and bite marks. He's hesitant at first, afraid to go too far, but each time he bites a little harder, sucks a little longer, Zevran only hums appreciatively. It becomes a challenge then, to make him gasp and arch off the bed, to make his fingers in Alistair's hair clench tightly for a moment before he relaxes again.

They have all evening, after all, and as much of the night as they choose. "We should stay out of sight," Mahariel said. That she agreed to let them stay at an inn at all is only because this particular town is large enough that people don't look too closely at travelers. To be safe, though, they're all staying to their rooms.

So now he has hours for this, for something more than a quick fuck when they're supposed to be gathering firewood, and he wants to take advantage of it. His cock is aching, has been aching since he got Zevran naked, but it doesn't matter as much as starting a new line of bites along the edge of a tattoo he hasn't touched yet, tracing the ink with his tongue before biting down hard. He likes the way the skin feels between his teeth, cool from the air and wet from his tongue, and he likes the way it looks afterward, the neat imprint of his teeth and the softer edges of the mark made when he sucks on the skin.

There's something else he doesn't name: the feeling inside him when he leans back enough to survey his work and knows Zevran will be carrying these marks for days unless he chooses to do something about it. Which he won't, and the knowledge leaves Alistair breathless. He loves the sight of Zevran's skin dark from his teeth, and he hates himself for loving it, but right now, he only hates himself a little.

"Finished so soon?" Zevran asks, propping himself up on an elbow to smirk down at Alistair. "I believe you might have missed a spot, just here." He points to an unmarked patch of skin, low on his stomach, and Alistair obligingly puts his mouth there, sucking until the skin is hot against his tongue.

Zevran's cock is resting against his jaw, and after licking and sucking nearly every other bit of his skin, it's the next obvious step to suck carefully on the head, letting his tongue trace the slit and the flared edge and the crease on the underside. He's never done this before, and his teeth scrape maybe more than they should, but Zevran groans whenever they do, so Alistair decides he's not making a complete mess of this.

He moves on after a while, sucking another set of marks along the tattoo curling around Zevran's thigh before returning to his cock, taking a little more of it into his mouth this time. Zevran can swallow the entire length of Alistair's cock, his lips going all the way to the base, but Alistair discovers quickly that it's not nearly as easy as Zevran makes it look. At least Zevran doesn't laugh when he pulls back, gagging.

Given how much Zevran teases him when they're out in public, it's strange how rarely he does it when it's just the two of them alone. He never mocks, either, though Alistair still finds himself tensing now, waiting for some caustic comment on his inability to do something so easy.

"That will take a little practice," Zevran says. Alistair glances at him, almost shy, but his smile isn't mocking. "You are, of course, welcome to practice on me at any time, but perhaps you might like to start simpler."

Simpler isn't quite simple, and it takes him a moment to get his hand and his mouth working together. Zevran doesn't comment, and Alistair figures it out soon enough, relaxing again as Zevran gives another pleased hum. It's easy to make it a game, then, where Alistair tries whatever crosses his mind and memorizes each reaction: watching Zevran's face, listening to the sounds he makes and to his increasingly ragged breathing, feeling muscles shift and clench more and more.

"Stop," Zevran gasps out, when his body is shaking.

Alistair almost stops, then remembers the watchword Zevran taught him and keeps going.

Zevran laughs, choked and breathless, and says between gulps of air, "Stop...unless you want...me to-"

"I do," Alistair interrupts, because he knows what Zevran is trying to tell him, and it's just going to embarrass him to hear it out loud. He wants to stay in this place where he doesn't hate himself or anything they're doing, and embarrassment will put all that in danger.

He shifts to bite the inside of Zevran's thigh, hard, and while Zevran is still gasping from that, returns to sucking his cock, moving his hand and his mouth together as best he can. Zevran grabs for his hair, and Alistair manages to catch his wrist and pin it to the bed without losing his rhythm, and then Zevran groans, twisting and jerking as his cock pulses in Alistair's fist.

From whispers overheard as a templar recruit, and not-so-whispered bawdy songs overheard in taverns, Alistair expected to find this part disgusting, something to be gotten through as fast as possible, but it isn't. Perhaps the taste is unpleasant, sharp and bitter, but swallowing it down makes him feel the way he does when he marks Zevran's skin.

_Mine._

_This is mine._

_You're mine._

He knows he'll hate himself for those words as soon as his cock is no longer hard, but they're still in his head when he straightens to kneel between Zevran's thighs. If he hates himself, so be it. For now, he just wants to admire those marks while he strokes himself. A few of the bites have begun to fade, but many of them remain, all across Zevran's chest and stomach and thighs, and at least a few of those will last for days.

That's what overwhelms him, the thought of Zevran walking along the road tomorrow, joking with Mahariel and flirting with Wynne while under his clothes, those marks sting and ache. A secret between the two of them, but still there, still real, and Alistair comes with a groan, striping Zevran's chest and stomach. Then he groans again as it flashes through his head, the image of Zevran's skin covered in his seed and the marks from his teeth, and for a little while, he doesn't hate himself at all.

Later, he rests his head on Zevran's chest and traces the marks with his fingers, thoughts drifting while he listens to the slow, steady beat of Zevran's heart. Maybe this thing between them is temporary, but it doesn't need to last forever for him to enjoy it now.

Maybe it doesn't need a name to be real.


End file.
